3 for 3
by cardiganception
Summary: Three short ficlets written for the first JaegerCon gift exchange. For Becca!


"Aleksis, how do you make your lips red like that?"

The Russian whipped her head around, startled by the small yet demanding voice at the door to her room. The owner of the question was a nine year old girl in an oversized tank top and blue cargo pants that had been poorly hemmed multiple times.

Aleksis sighed. Mako Mori was growing too fast, the ceiling of the Jaeger bays too high to stop her. She was used to the little girl hanging around her and Sasha, climbing up his legs to ride on his shoulders after they returned from a mission, trading Japanese vocabulary for Russian, eating the dry cookies given to the older pilots in their ration kits. Mako Mori had become a permanent fixture in their lives.

"It's lipstick," she answered, putting down the pack of notes given to her by Stacker. The Kaiju were getting bigger, so Cherno Alpha was getting modifications soon to keep up.

"Can you show me?" Mako hopped over the doorstep into her room, little black socks padding across the floor.

"Yes, if you tell me where your shoes are," she answered gruffly. With machinery and spikes and metal everywhere it was dangerous to go barefoot. Mako pulled herself up onto Sasha's small desk and swung her feet back and forth, knocking her heels against it.

"I don't need shoes," she said brightly. "They pinch my toes anyways. So how do you keep your lipstick on in the conn pod? Can I wear some please?"

"Too many questions, little girl." Aleksis reached into her pocket and pulled out a small black tube. Walking to the sliver of mirror on the wall, she wiped her current coat of red off with a rag hanging in the bathroom. "Pay attention, Mako."

Her subject pushed off the desk and dragged the chair over, standing on it so they were almost the same height. Aleksis made space for her in the reflection and uncapped the tube. "Spin the end."

"Spin the end," Mako repeated, intently focused on her hands in the mirror.

"Start with the top and make the M."

"M for Mako!"

Aleksis's smile was partially concealed by the tube, but it faded quickly. "M for месть," she replied hoarsely.

"You haven't haven't taught me that word, Aleksis," Mako said quietly.

"Revenge." The red of her family's blood was still fresh against the snow, red as the day the Kaiju made land in Russia. The crimson of the gash on her forehead cut a sharp contrast against the Kaiju Blue covering the ground where she laid. If only she had Cherno Alpha that day, if only she had Sasha, if only she knew. Kaiju left their mark on everyone. After knowing a person for five minutes it was easy to find the physical manifestation of the personal trauma they had endured; Newt had tattoos, Mako had a right foot covered in white scars, Stacker had Mako, Sasha had a ring for every Kaiju they had killed and each family member buried. Aleksis wore her rage on her lips, a warning similar to those that poisonous butterflies painted on their wings to stop predators. But in this case, she did not flutter away safely. She dove in fighting.

"Red for my family," she said quietly after a moment of silence. "That is the mark they left."

Mako reached up and touched her own lips sadly, eyes unreadable.

"Next the bottom," Aleksis found herself saying, the lipstick gliding on with the ease of practice. Satisfied with her own application she grabbed Mako's chin in her hand. "Get good, little girl, and you can do it in three quick hits." She swiped the color across the aspiring pilot's small mouth in three short strokes. "Boom, boom, boom. Three hits, like killing Kaiju."

That evening the news ran stories on the latest attack in Oregon and the destruction of fourteen coastal towns. Two days later Mako showed up at her door clutching a box of electric blue hair dye Tendo found for her, and Aleksis wished the damage Kaiju left was only on Jaegers.

Hermann and Newt had never been enemies, but then again, calling them friends was a stretch. Maybe it was the unending behavior warning slips Hermann attempted to file against his co-worker, or possibly Newt's request for keys to the temporary holding cells and six feet of rope, but after three months of unrestrained lab warfare Stacker decided they were in need of a chaperone.

His first choice was some enterprising LOCCENT technician looking for a chance to prove themselves, but when Tendo Choi offered to spend his day off with the pair he could hardly say no.

"It'll be my pleasure, Mr. Pentecost," the young officer had told him. "Newt and I go way back, and the boys have been asking me to take bets on who's set to win these scuffles for a while now."

So the following Wednesday Tendo arrived in the cluttered lab bright and early with four mugs of black coffee. Stepping over piles of paper and files littering the floor next to the filing cabinets lining the walls, he plunked the mugs down on Hermann's desk in the corner, the cleanest space in the room. Pencils and pens were lined up neatly next a stack of immaculate composition notebooks, and Tendo almost felt guilty ruining the pristine surface of the desk with the clunky white cups.

Movement near the door attracted his attention as Newt and Hermann entered the room, both unusually quiet. Newt's mouth was pressed closed and he had a pained look on his face, while Hermann seemed utterly serene.

"Good morning to you, Mr. Choi!" the older mathematician greeted, sliding around his desk to set his briefcase down and remove his coat, resting his cane against his sturdy chair. "I hope LOCCENT has been treating you well?"

"The control room is wonderful, Dr. Gottlieb." Tendo rubbed the catch on his suspenders. "How's business been back here in the lair?"

Hermann gave him a look of complete disdain. "I know why you're here, so don't try to pull the sheep's wool over my eyes. If you want me to stoop to HIS level and spout off all the abuses I've suffered while working with that baboon, you are sorely mistaken." He straightened his collar and pulled out his chair, sitting down to open a notebook filled with calculations.

"I resent that," Newt called from across the lab. "We probably all descended from apes, so you just insulted yourself. I win." The Kaijuologist had collapsed onto the couch he had dragged in from some junkyard near the Dome and positioned to face the wall opposite Hermann. Resting by it, on top of a crate labelled "Spare Reactors-Fragile" and "Newt's" was a tiny television, the screen no bigger than a Kaiju skin parasite. Surrounding it on the floor were game consoles and controllers, wires cross-hatching the space. Tendo picked up three of the mugs before wandering over.

"Where did you get ahold of all this?" he wondered aloud, slightly awestruck. Video game consoles were rare and expensive, and Newt had at least three, not to mention different controllers and the actual games.

"I found a connection in Manila," he answered. Taking off his glasses, he rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Someone I went to university with, their uncle worked at gaming corporation so when the old guy died, my friend inherited a bunch of stuff. Hey, is that coffee?"

Trading a cup of caffeine for a control, Tendo sorted through the heaps of games on the ground and finally selected one. "Can I try this for old times sake? Mario Kart. Haven't played in years, but the kids down the street used to come over and we'd hold a tournament."

"Sure, let me plug it in," Newt said, digging through the wires to unearth a little box boasting "GameCube." Moment later the television flickered to life and they were racing around a track, Tendo swearing at him in Cantonese and Newt threatening to unleash Knifehead on him.

"You know, I always try to get Hermann to play but he thinks it's stupid." Newt's kart flew off a ramp and he passed Tendo. "Personally, I just think he's a little too old to appreciate the beauty of the Marioverse. Culture shock, you know." The last part was whispered loudly, but Hermann's age had not detracted from his hearing.

"I have a limp, I am not deaf, Newton!" he shouted fruitlessly at the pair. His assailant jumped to his feet, nearly spilling his coffee.

"Then why don't you come over here and show me what you got!" Newt hurled back, throwing his arms up in mock-gangster-fight style. Tendo watched in silence, trying not to laugh as Hermann fumed.

"I fear your embarrassment at losing would be too much to handle," he said vehemently. "Besides, those tiny cars defy all the laws of physics and science, it's a disgrace to the field-"

"I don't know about you, Tendo, but all I'm hearing is a chicken," Newt dropped back to the catch and resumed the race triumphantly.

"Give that to me!"

Hermann made his way across the room surprisingly fast for someone with bad leg. He grabbed the controller out of Tendo's hands, ignoring his startled complaints, intent only on victory. Newt's face split into a grin in anticipation as the announcer counted down.

"3. 2. 1. Go!"

Half an hour later they were still battling for first place, having driven through three Grand Prix already. "Best out of five!" Newt had declared after winning the first Cup but losing the second. It was there that Stacker Pentecost found them, huddled around the tiny screen, a mix of shouts and despair in three different languages. When coughing quietly did nothing to sway their attention, Stacker cleared his throat loudly. "Gentlemen!"

Three quickly ashamed boys rose as one, their previous cries of victory dying on their lips. "Mr. Gottlieb, your presence is requested in the mechanics' meeting room." The Marshal stared them down, eyebrows raised. Newt pushed up his glasses and held up his controller to address the senior officer.

"Want to play?"

The mission had been spectacular. Hong Kong was safe. Yes, the clock was reset, and if Hermann was right they were about to be in more trouble than they could possible imagine, but for now they were safe, and Raleigh was hungry. Wandering down the mostly silent corridors at 3 a.m. gave him time to think, about the battle and Mako and how much he was craving some real bacon, not just the artificial strips that came with the standard Shatterdome breakfast. Pushing open the swinging doors to the kitchen he was stopped by the sight of one the food service aids, washing cups in the industrial sink. She whipped around at the noise brandishing a sponge and Raleigh took a step back.

"Sorry for scaring you," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "I just wanted to make an omelette or something."

The woman lowered her sponge. "Oh, yes, of course. Not a problem." She drained the sink and pulled a skillet off a rack before wiping her hands on a towel. "I was just about to leave, cleaning up from the celebration, you know. Eggs are in the fridge, margarine is on the top shelf." She pointed to the massive refrigerator and he thanked her, moving out of the way as she left through the doors he had entered.

Raleigh hummed tunelessly as he located the smallest stove burner and flipped it on, setting the pan on top and waiting for it to heat up. He was hardly surprised when Mako pushed open the door and stepped into the fluorescent light of the kitchen.

"I heard you leave," she said, walking around the large island in the middle of the kitchen to lean on the counter next to him. She was still in her boots and uniform pants, with a thick tan sweater covering her arms. "You can't sleep?"

Raleigh shook his head and she nodded. "Neither can I."

She frayed the ends of her sleeves while he opened the stainless steel refrigerator. It was packed, filled with everything needed to feed the hundreds of mouths in the Shatterdome. There were even cans of dog food labelled "For Max H."

"Want an omelette?" he asked, pulling out a box of eggs and a tub of fake butter. "I can make two."

"I've never eaten one." Mako blushed slightly. "I mean, not in real life. I've tasted you eating one though, in the drift." She stumbled over the words, staring at the floor. "It was good." Raleigh remembered seeing the memory of his pre-Kaiju breakfast come up, but he was unaware taste could travel through the connection. He'd give anything to eat another plate of fried eggs in his old house.

"My mom was a really good cook," he said finally, plopping a spoonful of margarine into the pan. As it sizzled, Mako pulled herself up onto the counter, tapping her fingers lightly against the cold metal. They fell into a comfortable silence as Raleigh cracked the eggs one by one against the side of the skillet, letting the yolks fall into the golden melted butter. He waited patiently for them to cook, smiling when Mako leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes, her breathing becoming more even as the eggs turned yellow. Her leg rested innocently against his side as he leaned against the counter next to her. And he felt safer with the contact. Coming out of a drift and re-entering the real world was tough, especially after sharing someone's head, aligned so closely you couldn't tell where they stopped and you began. Raleigh knew it was normal to need physical contact after a mission, and god knows he had seen the Russians take that very deeply to heart in the middle of the hanger, but with Mako it was different. Maybe he did want that, someday, but for now he just enjoyed the reassurance of being near her and the smell of food cooking.

Mako cracked open an eye to see him looking at her. "I'm not sleeping," she said groggily. "Are the omelettes done?"

Raleigh was about to reply when he realized he didn't have any vegetables or cheese to put in them. Looking around frantically for something to add he tried to rescue the quickly browning eggs and take them off the heat, but Mako just laughed and reached over, grabbing the spatula out of his hand. Stabbing the eggs with the blunt edge she stirred them up until they were a crumble of chunks. "I like them better scrambled, anyways," she grinned. "Got any forks?"


End file.
